


listen

by pennyone (LostChanceTo)



Series: who's gonna catch me when i fall [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Reverse Robin AU, Stray AU, after dami dies, but its not graphic?, jon talks about finding dami like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23235928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostChanceTo/pseuds/pennyone
Summary: “Does he have any old friends?” Conner said. Jon buried his head in his hands. “You’ve known Tim a long time, right? Does he?”“Why the hell would I know?” Jon groaned. He gave up and walked over to the couch and fell onto it next to Conner. This close, it didn’t take Jon much effort to circle through his various abilities to check up on Conner. Normal resting heart rate, no temperature, that little cut on his left hip had finally healed, the hole his earring sat in wasn’t infected, there was a bruise on his right hip that was beginning to fade - Jon couldn’t remember when he’d started doing this automatically.“You know him,” Conner insisted.“Knew him,” Jon said, “and I threw that away the second I lost my temper at Damian’s funeral.”
Relationships: Jonathan Samuel Kent & Damian Wayne, Jonathan Samuel Kent & Kon-El | Conner Kent
Series: who's gonna catch me when i fall [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552462
Comments: 2
Kudos: 94





	listen

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this cuz azemex was like,,,,, but jon?????
> 
> this takes place during like chapter 10 of do falling trees make noise

“Nothing wrong with her becoming a psychiatrist,” Dad said, waving his big hands in front of him, “I just worry about her going to Arkham. Is that really what she wants?”

Dad, Uncle Bruce, Duke, and Jon sat in the Batcomputer chairs. Conner and Tim had left a little while ago, giggling like schoolkids and muttering about taking the Batmobile. Conner had seemed excited by the prospect, but Tim had been putting on a flippant attitude. Trying to impress Conner?

Jon shook the thought from his head. The cave air smelled like wet socks and ancient rock and machinery and Jon’s nose was beginning to clog. Dad, of course, looked like he was sitting in a park on a warm, sunny day, as always.

Duke rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. Jon idly admired just how big his biceps were. “We’ve all had this conversation with her ten million times,” he said, “she refuses to be swayed. It’s Arkham or bust.”

“She knows it’s dangerous, though, right?” Jon said quietly, shoving away the urge to nibble on an unbreakable nail. “Like it’s one thing to go up against villains and to fight for your life every night. But it’s another to willingly walk into the lion's den and offer to hear them out. Is she sure she won’t be another Harley Quinn?”

“She won’t,” Uncle Bruce said firmly. “We won’t let her. I’ve been talking to her and she wants to keep an open line of communication not just with us Bats, but with her civilian friends and family, too. She’ll be getting therapy as well, so that way she won’t isolate herself the way Harley did before she became, well, Harley.”

  
“That’s not a guarantee,” Jon pointed out.

“There wasn’t a guarantee that she wouldn’t be paralyzed either,” Duke said, voice a little sharp. Jon fell quiet, glancing away. “And she still went out every night. Sure, she can’t physically back us up anymore, but this is her way to keep helping. She knows the risks. She’s still gonna do it.”

It wasn’t his place to say anything about her paralysis. He hadn’t been involved with the accident, he hadn’t been there to help her piece herself back together, there wasn’t really anything he could say to this argument. 

“Right,” Jon muttered. Duke sighed and scooted forwards to drop a hand on Jon’s shoulders. Jon picked up on the sound of the Batmobile in the distance - Conner and Tim would be back soon.

“I know you’re worried,” Duke said, “we’re all worried about her. But there’s no stopping her when she’s got an idea into her thick skull. Besides,” he shrugged, “if there’s anyone who could pull this off, it’s her. And maybe the inmates will get some decent mental care like this.”

“Maybe,” Jon said, pulling away as the proximity sensors went off. Duke’s face fell.

“Jon,” he said quietly.

“Sorry,” Jon said with a little wince. He hadn’t meant to come off as disparaging or anything. He was just - tired. Duke sighed a little, but didn’t say anything; the Batmobile pulled into the cave and parked.

There was only one heartbeat coming from it.

“I’m back,” Conner called as he jumped out of the car. He was frowning, but the glint in his eyes hadn’t left.

“Where’s Tim?” Jon called. Conner shrugged.

“Ran into someone he knew,” Conner said. Jon frowned. Technically, because they were in Gotham, Tim was playing host to Conner. He shouldn’t have just left Conner! “They’re having an important conversation, apparently. Are we going back now?”

“Thought you wanted out the house?” Jon said. Conner glared and flipped him off.

  
“And now I want back in the house,” he said, “get off my dick.”

“Language,” Dad scolded, but it was soft and defeated. Nothing and no one would ever get Conner to stop cursing, Jon was pretty sure. He just cursed. Even if it rankled Dad’s good Midwestern nerves, he wasn’t gonna stop. Dad turned to Uncle Bruce and Duke. “Sorry. Rain check on this conversation?”

“Sure,” Duke said easily, big, beautiful smile spreading across his face. Jon stood as well, grinned when Duke pulled him into a goodbye hug. Duke gave amazing hugs, warm and tight with his whole heart put into it. He hugged like Dad hugged. “Take care, Jon.”

“Yeah, you too,” Jon said, “and good luck with your undercover mission.” Duke grinned at him and ruffled his hair and pulled away to get scooped into a hug from Dad. Jon grinned and headed over to give Uncle Bruce a careful hug as well. The angle was a little awkward - Jon had known Uncle Bruce for most of his life, but he was still a little confused on how to navigate Uncle Bruce’s wheelchair.

Another round of goodbyes, and the three of them were off.

\--

Jon didn’t actually live on the Kent farm anymore. He had his own shitty little apartment in Metropolis that he wouldn’t give up for the world. His parents paid for it, wealthy white Nobel Prize winning reporters that they were, so it was easy living for the most part. Jon just had to focus on his grades.

Didn’t make it less lonely. He was used to the sounds of the animals and the quiet of the country and the smell of the sky and the sun. Not the dirty city streets and the eternal car noises and honking and occasional shouting from his neighbors. 

Of course, lonely didn’t mean he wanted his Brand New Little Brother to stay over, ever.

“Thought you wanted to go back to the farm,” Jon said. Conner ignored him and popped another popcorn kernel into his mouth. The TV was muted, the remote in Jon’s hand, but he still determinedly watched the Harry Potter rerun. “Conner.”

“It’s Kon.”

“Excuse me?” Jon said. He walked in front of the TV and put his hands on his hips, still holding the remote, anger burning in his chest. He had just wanted to be alone! He didn’t want to talk to Conner!

“Kon,” Conner said, “I want to go by Kon.”

“Is this because of Tim somehow?” Jon asked, but it came out more statement than question. He cringed at his own words and shook his head. “Don’t answer that, just get out of my apartment.”

“Does he have any old friends?” Conner said. Jon buried his head in his hands. “You’ve known Tim a long time, right? Does he?”

“Why the hell would I know?” Jon groaned. He gave up and walked over to the couch and fell onto it next to Conner. This close, it didn’t take Jon much effort to circle through his various abilities to check up on Conner. Normal resting heart rate, no temperature, that little cut on his left hip had finally healed, the hole his earring sat in wasn’t infected, there was a bruise on his right hip that was beginning to fade - Jon couldn’t remember when he’d started doing this automatically.

“You know him,” Conner insisted. 

“Knew him,” Jon said, “and I threw that away the second I lost my temper at Damian’s funeral.”

  
“Damian?”

“Wayne,” Jon said, “the old Robin.” He looked over at Conner. The kid was leaning towards him, ice blue eyes wide as he stared at Jon. Jon wrinkled his nose and turned away. “As far as old friends go, I think Tim’s just got Steph left. And maybe that Ives kid from school, although I don’t really know what happened to him. There was a detective’s club at Gotham Academy Damian was close with, maybe Tim’s got old friends there too. I don’t know, Conner -  _ Kon _ . Sorry, Kon. Not Conner. Why do you want to know?”

“We ran into someone,” Kon said, “some tall, strong looking dude.” He shuddered. “Lost all semblance of control of my senses the second I saw him, so all I really know is that he smells like lavender and scentless body wash and like, coconut deodorant.” Jon winced in sympathy. He’d had a lot of those moments. It came with being only half Kryptonian. “His eyes were green and he said he was an old friend.”

“Could be anyone,” Jon said, “like I said, I’m not close with Tim anymore, if I was ever close with him at all.”

“Why’d you lose your temper?” Kon asked. Jon sighed and dragged a hand down his face, feeling a little silly and a little like Uncle Bruce as he did so. He didn’t want to talk emotions right now. Not with Kon.

  
“None of your business,” Jon said. He shoved off the couch. Kon caught his hand as he turned to go.

  
“Please,” Kon said, voice and eyes clear and earnest as though he wasn’t asking for highly personal information. Jon shook his head. Kon tugged at his arm again. “Please, Jon. I want to know.”

“Just because you want to know doesn’t mean I’ll tell you,” Jon said, “I don’t like you remember?”

“Clark’s not here right now,” Kon said, “you don’t have to pretend to hate me to piss him off.” He rolled his eyes. “Not that it’d work. Even I know that  _ Superman himself  _ will never lose his temper. And I haven’t had much experience in the life category.”

“That’s not - Ugh,” Jon groaned, “I’m not telling you.”

“You know I’m not gonna stop bothering you until you tell me, right?” Kon said, grinning wide and mischievously.

  
For a Single Moment, Jon considered just caving in his brother’s face. Just - fucking him up, right there on Jon’s raggity old couch.

“Damian was one of my best friends,” Jon said. He sat down next to Kon again, arms crossed over his chest, purple eyes locked on the kitchen window. The sky outside was dark, but if he looked hard enough he could see all the way to Gotham. “And then he disappeared. For a week, we looked everywhere.  _ I _ looked everywhere. Listened too. But I couldn’t hear him.

  
“Tim had disappeared as well. We all knew where he was: at Damian’s side. That’s where he always was. I assumed - well. I assumed that’s where he’d always be. But I couldn’t sense either of them. Neither could Dad. And it was just -

“It was the worst week of my life, ok?” Jon glanced over to see Kon watching with a fascinated expression. Jon turned away again, deeply unsettled by his interest. “It was just. . .” he shook his head a little, eyes beginning to water.

“When we found them, we were too late to save them properly. I’ve never seen Tim so pale in my life. And Damian. Damian was.”

Jon shifted and took a deep breath, remembering the horror and pain and misery that had accompanied their rescue. Remembered holding Damian’s body in his arms, because his dad had been carrying Tim and had Harley Quinn’s limp body under his other arm. How still Damian’d been. How. How  _ cold _ .

“And well. I blamed Tim.” Jon’s head fell back against the couch. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to physically push away the way they stung. “God help me, but I blamed Tim for Damian’s death. And I told him as much at the funeral. I couldn’t stop myself. Tim was as much a victim as Damian was, and I know that now. But then. . . I’m surprised Tim even looked me in the eyes today. Surprised he gave me the time of day.”

“Oh,” Kon said. Jon turned towards him, lips pulled up into a painful smile.

“Oh, indeed,” Jon said. He shoved himself up and off the couch, forcing down the familiar rush of tears. “Now you know. Do with that what you will, I guess. I’m going to bed.” He stormed across the room, exhaustion tugging down this limbs. Even just that short little summary of what had happened had taken so much energy.

“Sorry for asking,” Kon said quietly. Jon waved him off.

  
“We’re brothers,” Jon said with a little shrug, “you’re gonna ask me annoying fucking questions and I’m gonna gripe and answer it in the least helpful way possible and it’s gonna be a normal thing. Don’t apologize.” Kon’s eyes were wide, but Jon didn’t wait around to listen to whatever it was he’d just realized.

He didn’t have the energy for it.

\--

The thing about listening to someone’s heartbeat was that most heartbeats sounded pretty much the same. The rhythm varied a little, person to person, but in general most heart beats sounded the same. It was one of the first things Dad had told Jon when his hearing came in.

_ I’m listening to your heartbeat _ meant, to the two of them (three, now that Kon was here and would have to learn as well),  _ I’m listening to the way your body moves _ .

Heart beats were important, but only just as important as the swoosh of blood through veins and the steady in-out-in-out of breathing, as the way muscles squashed and stretched and bones cracked and ground, the rustle of clothes and how skin rubbed against itself and the specific way a person swallowed. That was where the variance lied. That’s how you tell people apart. If you listen in that closely, then everyone is distinct in a way no one else in the world can replicate, despite the population hitting the billions.

Between Jon and his dad, there were only a few people who’s “heartbeats” they’d memorized to the point of recognizing anywhere, anytime.

Lois Lane.

Clark Kent, for Jon.

Jon Kent, for Dad.

Jonathan Kent.

Martha Kent. 

Krypto.

  
Lex Luthor.

Bruce Wayne.

Terry McGinnis.

Diana Prince. 

Barry Allen.

Hal Jordan.

J’onn J’onzz.

And at the end of that little list, Damian Wayne, added by Jon. Because he wasn’t able to keep up his powers all the time, not like his father could, and had to work a little to memorize the sounds someone made. Because this was the first person he’d made an effort to memorize outside the list of important people his father had drawn up.

An old friend with green eyes? Tim didn’t have any old friends with green eyes.

Jon groaned and covered his face in his hands. He closed his eyes. He listened.

Because there was someone - Jon noticed them maybe sixish months after Damian’s death. They sounded like Damian. And normally Jon wouldn’t have paid them much attention, but they had sounded so similar. . . They were off just by the slightest bit, just in the almost hesitance that surrounded the beat of their heart. Where Damian moved with total confidence, they were softer in a way that wore off within months.

They were older now. They didn’t sound the same at all anymore. They sounded bigger. There was more weight on their ankles. Their voice was deeper when it rumbled in their chest.

It still sounded like Damian.

Jon listened for the person and found them walking in Gotham, having a conversation Jon didn’t bother processing the words to. Eyes squeezed shut, body tense, he waited. 

He listened.

**Author's Note:**

> i'll see if i can't write the first chapter of the next fic by next friday,,,,,, 
> 
> happy quarantine guys stay safe wash your hands


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